


Happens All The Time

by missdibley



Series: Oh My Oakley [16]
Category: British Actor RPF, Suburban Shootout, Tom Hiddleston - Fandom, Unrelated (2007), Unrelated (2007) RPF, Wallander (UK TV), Wallander (UK TV) RPF, Wallander - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, F/M, Marriage, Middle Age, possible cheating, suburban shootout - Freeform, tom hiddleston - Freeform, unrelated, wallander - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-07
Updated: 2018-01-12
Packaged: 2019-03-01 20:40:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,143
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13302786
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missdibley/pseuds/missdibley
Summary: Helen and Oakley are coming apart after almost twenty years, and three children, together.





	1. Tagged

**Author's Note:**

> I've had this story in the works for quite some time. Finally started it. Hope you enjoy.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's New Year's Eve and for the first time in a long while, Oakley and his wife Helen are spending it apart.

_Let's watch the old year die_  
_With a fond goodbye_  
_And our hopes as high_  
_As a kite_  
_How can our love go wrong if_  
_We start the new year right?_  
Irving Berlin, “Let’s Start The New Year Right”

* * *

“So why do they call you Oakley?”

Tom Oakley smiled into the glass of whiskey he had lifted to his lips. “Thought you already knew.”

The woman with the dark fringe that hung into her dark eyes nodded. “Yes, but I want you to tell me again.”

They made a striking couple. Oakley, just a few years shy of forty with eyes that were bright blue, and dirty blond hair that always looked as through a woman had run her fingers through it. That was a deliberate choice, made possible with a secret combination of various hair dressings and the styling expertise of a hairdresser in SoHo. The woman, who was sixty but looked fifty, wore her straight brown hair in a bob that skimmed her shoulders, which she considered her best feature.

They were sitting on a low stone wall, outside on what was an unusually warm New Year’s Eve. The wall was situated at the far end of the garden behind an expensive house being rented by Oakley’s older brother Kit. Glass doors that ordinarily separated the inside from the outside were folded back, so the flow of traffic between the minimalist kitchen and the garden was unimpeded. Fashionable, bohemian Londoners from all the trendiest, moneyed postal codes had come to welcome Kit Oakley home after years of globe-trotting and soul searching.

And, of course, to celebrate the coming of the new year.

“Well,” Oakley began, leaning into his companion so she could feel as well as hear the words he spoke right into her ear. “When I started primary school, I was one of six Toms in my class. Tom A., Tom C., Tom H., and so forth.”

“Tom O.? Pleased to meet you.” She took Oakley’s glass from him, peering inside before taking a sip.

“No. Even at the tender age of five,” Oakley laughed. “I wasn’t going to be one of the Toms in my class. Not even Tommy would do.”

“But there was only one Oakley.” The woman turned her face into his, looming so close he could smell the whiskey on her breath. “You.”

“Exactly,” Oakley said confidently.

“So you were an insufferable little shit, even then?” She replied with a crooked smile. A smile which widened when he responded with laughter.

Oakley collapsed a little, his face now resting in the crook of her neck. But only just at the base of her throat, where a gold necklace glittered against her freckled, olive skin. Oakley raised his hand and, after releasing a slow breath, ran the tip of his index finger against the thin chain.

“I don’t think I thanked you for this,” she said, her voice husky and low.

Oakley shrugged. “Think of it as a belated birthday present, then.”

The woman’s laughed, her shoulders shaking. “Pretty nice for a belated birthday present.”

“Well, as it’s been just about twenty years since we last met…”

“And you were such an arsehole to me that summer.”

Oakley blushed. “I… I don’t think I knew what I was doing then.”

Anna, looked at his face again. “And do you think you know what you’re doing now?”

Oakley nodded. “Yeah,” he breathed. “I think I do.”

* * *

“Has anyone seen my brother?”

Kit stood just inside the kitchen, a packet of cigarettes in one hand and his lighter in the other. The assembled guests, who were all well into their fourth drinks or the second joints, didn’t reply. So he searched the crowd, brow furrowed and full lips pursed. When he saw Oakley coming towards him, it didn’t escape Kit’s attention that his brother’s shirt collar was yanked open. Or that his lips looked swollen, as though he had just been kissing someone.

“How’s the crowd tonight?” Oakley asked, raising his now empty glass for a sip. He frowned when he discovered there was no whiskey in it.

“How’s Helen?” Kit answered with a question, _the_ question.

“Fine, fine,” said Oakley, noncommittal and bored. “It’s well below freezing over there.”

“Well, that’s Chicago, for you.” replied Kit. “I assume the Swede has got them all hiking through the tundra in snowshoes he made himself from reclaimed timber.”

Despite himself, for he liked Magnus Martinsson very much, Oakley snorted with laughter. “Leave Magnus and Halla alone…”

“Who said anything about leaving Halla alone?” Kit practically purred, his mind now arrested by the thought of Magnus’s wife.

“My dear brother,” said Oakley. “It’s been almost twenty years. I think that ship has sailed.”

“Funny you should mention twenty years since…” Kit trailed off, but the thought lingered, for here came Anna walking up to join them.

“Kit.” She smiled warmly. “Settled in alright?”

Kit nodded, then leaned in to kiss Anna’s cheek. “Perfect. I don’t know what I would have done without you. The house is perfect.”

“Well, winter’s a good time for tenants looking for quick accommodation.” She looked around the garden, and then into the house. “My clients are relieved. They were about to sign a lease with some boy bander down on his luck. I think his name was Harry…”

“Who knew I was working with London’s realtor to the stars?” Kit raised his glass to her. “Cheers, Anna.”

“Well, i’m off.” She smiled, looking a little sheepish. “I promised the ex I’d go to his and do the whole ‘anxious parent waiting for their teenager to come home in one piece’ bit.”

“Oh, right,” said Oakley nodding. “How old is she now?”

“Clementina is 17 going on 27,” sighed Anna. “She’s out with a whole gang from her school. I don’t know if that’s supposed to make me feel better or worse.”

At that moment, a buzzing came from within Anna’s purse. “Oh! I think that could be…” She reached inside for her mobile. “Darling? Alex. Yes. Just leaving Kit’s now. Goodbyes, the whole bit.” She rubbed the back of her neck. “I know I should have left earlier, it will be impossible to get a taxi. But the tube’s nearby so… Yes.” She nodded. “Yes yes. Twenty minutes? Has she called? Oh good. Perfect. Ta.”

Kit leaned down, offering his cheek to Anna to kiss. “Thanks again, Anna. And happy…” He stopped, having caught sight of the necklace she wore. “That’s beautiful. Gorgeous, really.”

Anna froze, an uncertain smile on her face. “It… it was a gift.”

Kit, not really knowing why, felt the need to look at his brother’s face. His brother’s face which, at that moment, looked blankly innocent. “Whoever it was who gave it to you… I hope this makes up for whatever he did.”

Anna threw her head back and laughed. “It might do.”

They were interrupted by new arrivals, more fabulous friends who insisted on selfies with Kit upon greeting. And then Kit had to see to a delivery of ice, of more beer and nibbles from the local Syrian bakery. He said goodbye and hello, how are you and I love you and happy new year and before too long it was almost midnight.

Kit was single, perpetually single in fact. So he had no one in mind, preferring to play it by ear or by cock when it came to that all important midnight snog. He had just narrowed it down to a rotund Asian woman whose plush red lips complemented her tawny skin and a freckled African-American up and coming male model when his phone buzzed in his pocket.

Notifications from friends at the party, checking in and tagging him with greetings and compliments. “Seeing in the new year at Kit Oakley’s new pile!” “Happy new year from Kit’s!” “Check out the spread at Kit’s!” was the caption for a photograph of a group of particularly lovely young women. “And the nibbles aren’t so bad either!” The last was a tag of Kit in a photograph, in a selfie with some guests. Confirming that he looked good, he smoothed back his hair and went forward with his plan of carnal conquest.

* * *

Maggy Martinsson was happy. Seated for dinner, she looked around the room, at her happy family, and listened to the lovely sounds of home. Milk being poured into cups, and the glug of the Brita pitcher pouring water into drinking glasses. The fire her father Magnus had built crackled away in the fireplace, and her mother Halla counted out spoons -- big ones for chili, small ones for ice cream — and set them down with a satisfying thud on the tablecloth.

Across the table Maggy’s godmother, Helen Oakley, raked a wedge of cheddar against the grater until she nearly grated her knuckles. And even as she did, Helen kept looking — around the room and then around the table and then around the room again. Searching for someone who would not, could not magically appear.

It was almost six in Chicago which meant it was almost midnight in England. Maggy popped up — answering shouted questions like “Where are you going?” and “Where’s Maggy going, Mom? Can I go, too?” — and ran upstairs. “I’m calling Bill!” she yelled down, then slammed the door shut to her room.

Magnus shrugged. “I don’t see why she has to go all the way up there. I mean, what if all of us wanted to wish Bill a happy new year, too?”

Halla laughed. “I think Maggy could convey our wishes on our behalf, love.”

Their son, Magnus Håkan, Hake for short, grinned mischievously at his father. “With all the kissy noises she makes? I don’t _think_ so!”

Teddy and George, Helen’s four year old twin sons, began to giggle and parrot Hake. “I don’t _think_ so! I don’t _think_ so!”

Eight year old Violet Oakley played with her chili, poking at it with her spoon. Helen scooted closer to her daughter, placing a hand on her shoulder. “Vi, don’t play with your supper.”

“He hasn’t called yet,” Violet said, quietly.

“Should we try him again darling?” It had been a few hours since Helen had called. Or attempted to call, as Oakley hadn’t come to the phone all day. There were a few texts, though — brief, apologetic, but not illuminating. Kit was throwing a party, though not without some difficulty, and so Oakley had been enlisted to help.

When Violet nodded, Helen got up from the table. “Sorry, Halla, we’re going to try Oakley again.”

Halla and Magnus nodded. “Of course,” Halla said.

“Take your time,” replied Magnus. He smiled at the twins. “Boys, you want to go with your mum?”

They curled up, Helen on the floor next to the fireplace, with Teddy and George fighting for her lap. They watched Violet as she dialed, smiling when she did as she listened to the line ring. It rang and it rang, almost for a minute. And then another. Violet’s face, at first happy and hopeful, relaxed into something like concern, and then settled for disappointment. She handed the phone to Helen, who leaned in and kissed her daughter on the forehead.

“We’ll try him after supper, darling.”

“But it… we won’t be…” Violet hiccuped. “It will be too late.”

“Not for us, it will.” Helen tried to sound convincingly cheerful. “It won’t be midnight here yet. And as long as we get to talk to Daddy tonight, it will still count. We still get to say happy new year.”

“Yeah?” Teddy lisped.

“Yeah,” answered George. “Mummy said so.”

“You hungry?” Helen asked. When Teddy and George nodded, she helped them to their feet so they could return to the table. She hugged Violet.

“Can I try again?”

“After supper, love.” Helen affirmed. “Go on.”

She sat there, near the fire, and watched her children settle down to eat. They had been so good, behaving nicely while they stayed with the Martinssons. And Maggy was so bright and lovely, laughing as she came back from her call with greetings and well wishes from her boyfriend, Bill Hazeldine, who was in England with his own family. Helen was about to tuck her phone back into her jeans pocket when it buzzed.

It was a notification. From Facebook, of all things. Announcing that Kit Oakley, her rather louche brother-in-law, had been tagged in a photograph. She usually ignored these alerts, always swearing but then forgetting to change her settings so she wouldn’t be notified every time one of her family or friends did something seemingly insignificant. She did like pictures, though, so she launched the Facebook app for a peek.

“Finally,” Helen said to herself. “Something from the pa—”

_It couldn’t be. Who was that? What was he doing?_

The photograph was from Kit’s party in London. Where else could it have been from? It was Kit, looking drunk and relaxed between two hip young things as he joined their selfie.

And there, just a few feet behind, not the focus but clearly in view, was her husband, Oakley, holding close and whispering into the ear of a woman with dark hair, whose face she could not see but wore a gold necklace around her slim neck.


	2. "Every rock and tree and leaf"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wires finally uncross, and so Helen is finally able to call home. But the ensuing conversations don't exactly clear up her confusion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> While everybody in Oakley's life call him Oak or Oakley, his brother Kit calls him Tom.

_I’ll see you around_  
_Every hollow has its favorite sound_  
_Every rock and tree and leaf abound with your face_  
_Don’t tell me I’ve been wrong_  
_Don’t tell me all the magic’s gone_  
Liz Phair, “White Chocolate Space Egg”

* * *

For a moment, everything was quiet. Helen couldn’t hear a thing. Not the sound of her three children noisily tucking into their dinner. Not the laughter from her teenage goddaughter Maggy as she, cheerful after a phone call with her own love, resumed her seat at the table.

And everything was moving in slow motion. Halla holding a spoon of chili up to Magnus’s lips. George and Teddy breaking up pieces of cornbread, producing crumbs that fell onto the floor where they were promptly eaten by Moomin, the Martinsson family dog. Supper was going on as planned, and then the old year would give way to the new.

But until then, Helen needed a moment. Just one moment. To stare at her phone and wonder. She squeezed her eyes shut, then opened them again.

Maybe the picture, the hug, was a figment of her imagination. Maybe it wasn’t Oakley. Maybe it wasn’t the gold necklace she found in his pocket. But the picture was the same when she examined it again. Same hug. Same necklace. Same Oakley.

 _It’s just a hug,_ Helen thought. _Just a hug with a woman I don’t recognize wearing a necklace that I_ do _recognize._

She reached for her own throat, fumbling for the brass oak leaf that hung at its base. The leaf was [ an old gift ](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3935746/chapters/8833270) from Oakley when their love was relatively new. It hung around her neck along with her most recent gift from him — a sterling silver chain bearing three charms, one for each of her children. [ A fish ](http://estore-us.pandora.net/en-us/splish-splash-deep-blue-topaz/791108TPP.html?navid=search) for George, [ a bear ](http://estore-us.pandora.net/en-us/its-a-boy-teddy-bear-charm-blue-enamel/791124EN41.html?navid=search) for Teddy, and [ violets ](http://estore-us.pandora.net/en-us/purple-field-of-flowers-charm-murano-glass/791667.html) for Violet.

Looking back at her phone, Helen silently willed it to ring. And it did, surprising her so that she nearly dropped it in her lap before she answered it.

“Hello?” She said, breathlessly.

“Helen. Darling.” The velvet baritone of her brother-in-law Kit was clear and deep. In the background she could make out the sounds of music and laughter from Kit’s party.

“Happy new year, Kit.” Helen looked up to find Violet standing in front of her. She reached out and took her daughter’s hand. “Sounds like quite a party you’ve got going on there.”

“Oh it’s fine. Too many boring people, and not enough Champagne to make them less so.” Kit scoffed. “How are you? How are the children?”

“They’re good,” Helen replied. “I have Violet here. Would you like to…?”

“Put her on!” Kit commanded, good naturedly.

Helen pressed the phone to her shoulder, and said “It’s Uncle Kit. He’d like to say hello.”

Violet looked uncertain. “Is Daddy with him?”

“I… I’m not sure.” Helen returned to the call. “Is Oak with you?”

“No, he isn’t. I think he might have gone out for more ice,” Kit said. “Have you not already spoken to him, love?”

“No,” Helen admitted. “He hasn’t called yet, and we haven’t been able to reach him.”

Kit swore under his breath. “I’m sorry, Helen. I’m sure his phone’s just died, you know how he can be.”

“Sure.” Helen put down the phone, and asked Violet again: “Do you want to talk to Uncle Kit? Daddy’s not with him, though.”

Violet nodded. And so Helen welcomed Violet into her lap, pressing her nose against Violet’s shoulder as the child spoke.

“Hi… happy new year, Uncle Kit. Yes, we have. Very cold. We went to the cinema, and now we’re eating supper. Really? You do? Okay. That sounds fun. You want to talk to George and Teddy?”

Violet remained in her mother’s lap, the two of them watching her brothers fuss as they shared the phone, yelling “Yes!” and “No!” and “Pwomise?!” while Kit talked to them. Instead of handing the phone back to their mother when they were done, the boys shoved it at Violet, who returned it Helen.

“When are you back?” Kit asked.

“Friday morning,” Helen replied. “Do you see Oakley there?”

“I can’t say that I do,” said Kit. “I’ll find him for you. Just hold on.”

“No, don’t bother,” Helen said. “We’re just starting supper actually. If you see him, just… let him know we called.”

“Are you sure?”

Helen squeezed her daughter tight. “Yeah.”

“I’m so sorry, Helen.”

“Kit, please. Don’t be sorry,” replied Helen. “Nothing to be sorry for. See you Friday.”

Setting the phone aside, Helen cupped Violet’s face in her hand. “You alright?”

Violet nodded, her hair falling into her eyes as she did. “I miss Daddy.”

“I know, love.” Helen cuddled her, sighing when Violet cuddled back. “But if it’s any consolation…”

“What’s consolation?” Violet asked.

“It’s comfort, makes you feel better,” replied Helen. “I know Daddy misses us, too. And he’ll be so glad when we come home. Okay?”

Violet nodded. She slid out of Helen’s lap and, holding hands, they walked back to the table for supper.

* * *

Kit took a deep breath and looked around the lounge for his brother. It was just past 12:30 in London, the first day of the new year. The party continued, though he did notice people beginning to make their exits. Couples scrambling for coats, eager to escape to somewhere more private. Singles bound and determined to find someone to shag at the next stop. When asked, none of them knew where Oakley had gone. Kit stood in his kitchen, cursing to himself. A lanky brunette with sleepy eyes sauntered up, interrupting his rant.

“Kit?” She offered him a limp hand. “Sophie. Thanks for the ‘do. It was fab.”

“Erm, thanks,” he replied. “Happy new year.”

“I wish,” she scowled. “Some noodle haired idiot is passed out on top of the coats.” She showed him a camel coat with a tiny stain on the left lapel. “He drooled on my Max Mara trench.”

“Send me the bill,” Kit offered by way of apology. Excusing himself hastily, he dashed up to the spare bedroom. It was there that he found Oakley, passed out and oblivious to the people who were trying to claim their coats from under him.

“Thomas, get the fuck up or so help me…” Kit hissed, yanking his brother up to his feet.

“Happy new year, Christopher.” Oakley grabbed his brother by the neck and kissed him square on the lips. “Is it time?”

“It’s 12:30, arsehole.” Kit sat down on the edge of the bed where a few coats remained. He grimaced at the Oakley-shaped impression in the heap.

“Oh shit…” Oakley began patting his pockets down, looking for his phone. “I just closed my eyes…”

“Were you passed out here all this time?” Kit spat.

“No! I walked Anna to the tube, then I came right back here,” said Oakley, finding his phone. “I was going to shut my eyes for one second. FUCK.”

“One second?” Kit shook his head.

“Shut up, I’m calling Helen now.” Oakley frowned as he listened for a tone, anything to indicate his call was going through. But he heard nothing. “Piece of shit phone…”

“Try the landline. That’s what I used,” suggested Kit. He headed out of the room. “Come on. There’s an extension in the kitchen.”

“Yeah?” Oakley ran his fingers through his hair, leaving his hand on the back of his neck as he jogged down the stairs behind his brother. “How did they sound?”

“Boys were loud as ever. Violet was quiet.” Kit smiled. “Shy Violet.”

“What about Helen?” Oakley followed Kit in the kitchen, watching as Kit picked up a cordless handset. “And why do you have a landline, anyway?”

“Landlords insisted,” Kit explained. “For the security system.”

Kit found his own mobile phone, deciding to check Facebook for the first time that evening. He grinned at the tags from people who had checked in, thanking him for a fun evening. Once again, he looked at the picture he had been tagged into, the selfie with two friends who had just arrived. Only this time, he was able to take a closer look. He discovered them in the background, Oakley and Anna, locked in an embrace. Oakley’s lips dangerously close to brushing Anna’s bare shoulder, her slim neck, with the gold necklace that decorated it so beautifully.

“Tom,” Kit said.

Oakley looked over at his brother, already frowning in anticipation of whatever Kit was going to say next. “What?”

Kit handed over his mobile. “Look.”

Oakley rolled his eyes at the photograph. “Another picture of you looking like a self-satisfied twat?” He smirked. “Pass.”

“Tom,” Kit said, urgently this time. “Look. What’s going on”

“What do you mean?” Oakley frowned, and looked at the picture again. The frown disappeared, his face becoming impassively blank as he recognized himself. Saw the angle, the pose, the embrace. Anna. “So?”

“How do you know Anna again?” Kit frowned.

“That summer me and Dad went to Tuscany with cousin Verena and her lot,” said Oakley. “Anna was one of Verena’s school friends.”

“Which explains the age difference between you,” Kit realized.

“Well, we ran into each other a few weeks ago. And as things had ended on a weird note before…”

“Things?” Kit spat. “What things?”

Oakley shook his head. “Ancient history. Not worth getting into.”

“Well, it must be worth getting into if you skipped a trip with your wife and children…”

“For fucks’ sake, Kit, I’m on deadline!”

“... to spend it here with her!” Kit slapped his forehead. “Of all the stupid, idiotic…”

“We’re just friends, Kit.” Oakley tried to slow his breathing, not wanting to upset himself further.

“And how did your friend react when you gave her that necklace? Hmm? Right about that, am I?” Kit arched an eyebrow when Oakley didn’t respond. He went on: “Was she appropriately grateful like a friend should be?”

Oakley’s mouth drew itself into a straight line, lips disappearing as he raged within. He grabbed the cordless phone away from Kit only to throw it at him. “Fuck. You.” He spat. “Just… fuck off.” Fumbling for his mobile again, Oakley stalked off to the garden.

* * *

Teddy and George fell asleep not long after supper. Helen took George, and Magnus took Teddy, the two of them carrying the sleeping boys up to the guest room. When it wasn’t a guest room, it was Magnus and Halla’s shared office. Bookshelves stocked with Magnus’s research and published studies also had copies of the children’s books Halla had begun writing when Maggy was in middle school. The boys had cots in a little corner with a nightlight, but Magnus and Helen laid them out in the full size bed that she had been using during their stay.

Helen lingered there after Magnus returned to join the others, watching the boys sleep. Closing the door behind her, Helen sat on the landing and tried Oakley again.

“Helen?” Oakley said when he picked up. “Oh god, I am so sorry.”

“Yeah,” Helen said, dully. “It’s fine. Happy new year, Oak.”

“Are you alright?” Oakley asked. “What about the kids?”

“They’re fine.”

“Can I talk to them?”

“The boys are asleep.”

“Wake them.”

“No,” she said, stubbornly.

“It’s new year’s eve, Helen.”

“They’re four, Oakley. They got tired of waiting.”

“Right.” Oakley sounded tired himself. “Sorry.”

“It’s fine,” lied Helen.

“What about Violet?”

“She’s still up.”

“Put her on.”

“I would but…” Helen shifted. “A couple of Maggy’s girlfriends came over. They’re doing makeovers. Violet’s in heaven.”

“Really? But she’s just a little…”

“She’s like their mascot.” Helen smiled to herself. “Maggy’s been wonderful to her. I don’t want to interrupt their fun.”

“Right. Of course she would be enjoying herself.”

“She’s happy now.” Helen put more weight than she meant on that last word, not really meaning to but not exactly regretting it either.

“Well…” Oakley hesitated. “Alright then.”

“So how was the party? How’s Kit’s new house?”

“Fashionable, and expensive,” replied Oakley. “Despite the fact that he got a break because the house had been sitting on the market since last summer.”

“i knew he was sticking around but I didn’t think he’d actually sign a lease.”

“Month to month, so if he decides to uproot and run away to Southeast Asia again, he can do with little difficulty.”

“You make it sound so easy,” Helen said.

“What sounds easy?”

“Picking up,” she replied. “Leaving.”

Oakley waited, not knowing if there was something else she wanted to say. And if there was something else, was it that she’d seen the photograph? He already had an explanation ready to go. But Oakley wasn’t about to confess to or deny anything until he absolutely knew what he was being accused of.

Helen felt numb. She had so many questions, but wasn’t sure she was ready for the answers. She didn’t want to have that conversation, the one she knew they needed to have.

The photograph. The necklace. The woman.

A talk was necessary. But this wasn’t a talk they could have over the phone, separated by so much time and distance. This wasn’t something that could take place when Oakley was hungover, and Helen felt raw, as though her insides had been scraped away.

Downstairs, Helen could hear Magnus and Halla cooing like lovebirds as they presided over their happy home and their seemingly charmed life. Sitting there on the floor in the dark, Helen felt small. She really was exhausted but somehow, she managed to push herself to her feet.

“Call in a few hours, if you want,” she offered. “I’ll put Violet on.”

“Okay,” said Oakley. “Helen?”

“Yes, Oak?”

“I miss you.”

“Well,” said Helen. “We’ll be home on Friday.”

“Great. Great. That’s… great.” Oakley sighed. “I’ll call before midnight your time.”

“Sure,” Helen said. “Good night, Oak. And happy new year.”

“Helen?” Oakley asked.

“Oakley.” She replied.

“I love you.”

“I know.” Helen sighed. “Bye.”

She didn’t care that she sounded cold and disinterested. She didn’t want to hear what Oakley had to say for himself. Not then. Not ever.

Before she went back downstairs, Helen went into the bathroom to splash some water on her face. Her tired face with the lightly freckled cheeks and sparse eyebrows. Dark doe eyes and full pink lips that were only just a little downturned at the corners. It was funny how much she and Halla resembled each other, how Maggy and Violet looked like real sisters. It was less amusing when she thought of Magnus, and how much he looked like Oakley.

She rooted around in her makeup bag, applying lip gloss and eyebrow pencil. Mascara and two wisps of thin black eyeliner. She had no idea what was going on with her life, but at least she looked pretty.

The necklaces she wore all of a sudden felt tight around her neck. Removing the oak leaf, she carefully tucked it back into her makeup case. She kept on her wedding band and engagement ring. The silver chain and its three charms, however, went straight into the trash. Feeling much lighter, Helen took another deep breath and returned to the party downstairs.


	3. You Said Something

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oakley and Helen finally have that talk.

__ How did we get here?   
To this point of living?   
I held my breath   
And you said something  
PJ Harvey, “You Said Something”

* * *

When Helen woke up on the first day of the new year, she found herself in bed with her sleeping daughter. They had stayed up past midnight, though not long past. Just late enough for Violet to talk to her father on the telephone. Late enough to run out onto the front porch at midnight, when they lit sparklers and exchanged kisses and hugs and sang “Auld Lang Syne” in English and in Swedish. Late enough to fall into bed, crowding in with her brothers next to Helen, and fall asleep straight away. When Helen heard her sons’ laughter coming from downstairs, she got out of bed.

In the kitchen, Teddy and George were carefully measuring scoops of flour and sugar into a mixing bowl under Håkan’s watchful gaze. Magnus looked up from the stove, where he was frying bacon, and gave a friendly wave.

“Pancakes!” Teddy piped up “We’re making your pancakes!”

“Your pancakes?’ Magnus asked, handing Helen a cup of coffee.

“My pancakes, meaning the fluffy American kind.” Helen sipped her coffee, savoring the warm mug as it warmed her hands. “We usually eat the skinny English ones at home.”

Enticed by the smell of bacon, Maggy and her friends emerged from the basement just in time to set the table. They still had traces of glittery eyeshadow and lip gloss on their faces, as did Violet when she, along with a yawning Halla, joined the group.

Before sitting down, Violet ran to Helen and gave her a hug. “Hi, Mummy.” She dropped something next to Helen’s plate: the silver necklace.

“Oh!” Helen blinked. “Why, thank you.”

“Did you lose it?” Violet smiled. “I found it.” She lowered her voice to a whisper. “In the bin upstairs. There wasn’t anything else in there, and I washed them after I washed my hands.”

Helen wrapped them in a napkin then kissed Violet on the forehead. “Thank you, love.”

“Did Daddy call yet?” Violet asked. “For Teddy and George. He said he would when I talked to him last night.”

Helen checked her phone. A text from Oakley:  _ Text when you get up. I’ll call the boys then. _ “Not yet, but he did text. See?”

Helen turned to look at George, who was sitting at her side. “George, do you want to call Daddy? Wish him a happy new year?”

“Now?” George frowned as he continued to chew a small bite of pancake. He wiped at the butter smudged on his chin, succeeding only in transferring the smudge to his fingers. “But I’m EATING.”

Biting back a laugh, Helen shook her head then handed George a napkin. “No, after. And don’t talk with your mouth full, baby.”

“Did you get a hold of Oakley last night?” Halal asked.

“Yeah,” replied Helen. “He and Violet had a nice chat just before midnight.”

“I made it!” Violet sat up straighter in her chair. “Didn’t I, Maggy?”

“Yeah, and it was so great!” Maggy passed a plate of sausages to her friend, Katy. “The fireworks on tv. The fireworks in the alley.” She shook her head. “The dogs in the neighborhood howling because of the fireworks.” She looked under the table, where Moomin slept at her feet. “Poor Moomin. We made him a little bed in the bathtub and everything.”

Helen got up from the table, nodding at the empty coffee pot. “Anyone for coffee? I’ll make more.”

Halla followed her into the kitchen, remarking that they needed more butter and milk for the table. She waited until Helen had flipped the switch to start the water before she asked.

“So why didn’t he come?”

Helen sighed. “That’s the fifth time you’ve asked since we got here.”

“Only because I can’t believe he’d miss out just because he had a deadline,” said Halla with a frown.

“I know but.” Helen fiddled with a teaspoon. “It’s been so long, and he’s just about done. Oak just needed some peace and quiet.”

Halla frowned. “We would have found a corner here for him.”

“Well, I don’t know.” Helen sounded doubtful. “You know how you writers can be so particular about how and where you work. Hey!” Helen ducked when Halla threw a dish towel at her. “Anyway, it wasn’t so long. We’ll see him on Friday.”

“Uh huh,” said Halla, slowly. She pulled Helen into her arms for a hug. “I just worry.”

“Well, you needn’t bother.” Helen pasted a bright smile on her face, hoping it passed muster. “I’m fine. We are… we’re fine.”

“Yeah?” Halla patted her cheek. “You’d tell me if… I mean, you don’t have to, but just know that you can tell me anything.”

“There’s nothing going on, really,” said Helen, softly. “But if…”

“If?” Halla arched a brow.

“If there is something going on, you will be the first to know.”

“Promise?” Halla asked, hopeful.

Helen looked closely at Halla. She was so tired. Of wondering and waiting. Wanting to tell somebody but wanting to see him first. Talk to him. Scream at him. Love him. Just love him, and maybe then Oakley would tell her it was just a figment of her imagination. That she misunderstood. It wasn’t him, or it was him but the woman was nobody. Nothing to him. Nothing for her to be concerned about.

“I promise, Halla.” Helen hugged Halla tight. “I do.”

* * *

Two days later, Oakley was about to drive off to Heathrow to pick up his family when somebody knocked on his car window. Looking to the right, he frowned when he saw it was Kit.

“What are you doing here?” Oakley scowled, following Kit as he walked to the passenger side and let himself in.

“We’re picking them up, right?” Kit grinned. “Shall I get the sat nav going or do you reckon you can find your way on your own?”

“I can manage on my own. The navigation and…”

“Great! Then you won’t mind a nice brotherly chat, will you?”

“Kit.”

“Tom.” Kit tapped his watch, then nodded at the windscreen. “Let’s get a move on shall we?”

“Fine.” Oakley sighed. “Let’s go.”

Kit looked out the window, offering casual observations (“Is  [ that pie shop ](http://putneypies.co.uk/) any good?”) and advice (“You’re taking the M4, surely?”) which Oakley chose to ignore. They had been driving for ten minutes when it occurred to Oakley that he could turn on the radio. So he did, turning it up on a station in the middle of a block of early 90’s Brit pop.

“So…” Kit said, reaching over to turn the music down. He crossed his arms across his chest. “How are the rewrites going? Did you get a lot of work done?”

“Yeah.” Oakley flexed his fingers, keeping his hands steady on the wheel as he did. “I’m just about finished.”

“Did you talk to mum?” Kit asked. “She rang last night. Wants us to come to church with her on Sunday before dinner.”

“Just me and you?”

“No, twat. Me, you, Helen, the kids.”

“Of course, of course.”

“So…” Kit waited for Oakley to move into the passing lane before he continued. “How’s Anna?”

“Kit…”

“The reason I ask is because for being such a good friend, I don’t believe you’ve ever mentioned her before.”

“Like I said, it’s been ages but once we met up again…”

“You just picked up right where you left off?” Kit looked at Oakley.

“Yeah,” replied Oakley, after a beat.

“And where exactly did you leave things?”

“Fuck, Kit, leave it. We never did anything! She is just an old friend.”

“Since when do you give gold necklaces to mere friends you haven’t seen in twenty years?” Kit rebuked him. “If that’s standard, then god help me the next time I get together with the lads from nursery!”

Oakley said nothing, keeping his eyes on the road.

“Well?” Kit insisted.

“How did you know it was me?”

“It was just a hunch,” admitted Kit. “Though the way she kept touching it whenever you so much as looked at her certainly helped.”

Oakley opened his mouth, as if he was about to speak, but then shut it. Instead he nodded to his right. “We’re almost there.”

And so they were, seeing signs for the terminals, departures and arrivals, directions to car parks and where to pay the parking fees.

Once they were inside the airport, Oakley sent a quick text to Helen —  _ K and I are here. Look for us at the barrier _ — and leaned against a pillar. Standing beside him, Kit couldn’t read his brother’s blank, impassive face.

And so Kit’s assumption, his accusation, was left to linger. Unanswered but not unheard. It had to. He didn’t press the issue. He couldn’t press the issue. Not when Helen and the children were about to arrive and walk, presumably, into Oakley’s welcoming arms.

So he waited. Kit waited, and he wondered what Oakley was doing. Wondering if Oakley himself even knew. And what, if anything, he could do to help

“It’s none of your business, you know.” Oakley elbowed Kit slightly, but did not look at him. “Me and Anna.”

“Don’t you mean you and Helen?” Kit narrowed his eyes at Oakley, who huffed.

“Who are you to ask? You’re in and out, in and out. You haven’t been here in years.”

“They’re family, Tom.” Kit looked at his brother, and in his voice there was a tone of pleading. “Helen. Violet. Teddy. George.”

“They’re my family,” Oakley said firmly. “My family. My life.”

“Tom.”

“Look,” said Oakley, looking beyond the barrier. He waved his right hand in the air. “They’re here.”

There were things to do as soon as they arrived home. Visits to the potty and snacks for the children, bringing in suitcases and starting laundry for Helen. Kit and Oakley kept the children fed and amused until it time to put them down for naps. Even Violet, who insisted that she didn’t need one as she wasn’t a baby, fell asleep before Oakley finished reading a story to her.

Oakley found Helen in their bedroom, standing at the foot of the bed as she tiredly pulled off her t-shirt and jeans. When she saw him, she smiled.

“Oh, love.” Oakley frowned. “I’d love to but I’m not sure I’m in the mood…”

Helen’s frowned. “I… I was just going to get in the shower.”

“Of course,” said Oakley with a nod.

“Care to join?” Helen asked, immediately regretting how eager she sounded.

Shaking his head, Oakley instead turned to go. “I’m just going to make some tea.”

“Fine.” Helen shivered.

“You cold?” Oakley asked.

“No, I think it’s just reflexive. Any mention of tea, and all of a sudden I feel like I need to warm up.”

“You want me to bring you a cup?”

“Yes,” said Helen. “Wait. No. I’ll come down for it.”

Under the hot water, she stood still and tried to clear her head. She was disappointed Oakley didn’t want to get in with her. But she wasn’t exactly surprised. His kiss at the airport was perfunctory, and he barely hugged her. She hadn’t wanted to, but she pictured him hugging the woman with the dark hair and the bare shoulders. She saw Oakley’s lips tantalizingly close to the other woman’s ear.

Helen wasn’t proud to admit that she’d gone back to Facebook several times, looking for the picture. But it was lost to her. Had it been deleted? Or did the original poster simply remove the tag at Kit’s request, or at Oakley’s?

“Hey.”

Oakley, sitting at the kitchen table with two cups of tea, looked up from the book that he was trying to read. He smiled when he saw Helen in her bathrobe, hair still damp and tucked behind her ears. “Good shower?”

“Yeah.” Helen slid into the chair across from his. “I mean, the water pressure at Magnus and Halla’s is incredible. But it’s nice to be home.”

Oakley pushed a cup at her. “Here you go.”

Helen accepted the tea, peering at the cup but not yet drinking. “How’s the book?”

“Just about done,” Oakley said. “I think I’ll give it another look tonight, then send it off to Harriet in the morning.”

“You know, Halla said you could have used her office to write,” said Helen.

“Hels, come on,” Oakley sighed.

“For next time we visit, I mean.” She looked at him over her cup as she took a sip. “You were missed.”

“Yeah?” Oakley asked.

“Of course you were.” Helen reached for his hand. “Håkan was excited. He just got cast in the school musical. They’re doing  _ The Sound of Music _ .”

“Good for him,” said Oakley, pleased. “We should send him something when it opens.”

“Or maybe we could go see it?” Helen asked. “It’s not until June.”

“Maybe.” Oakley shrugged. “Perhaps.”

“So tell me about Kit’s party.”

“What about it?”

“Was it fun? Who was there?”

“You know the kind of people Kit hangs with. Artists, dilettantes, even a few celebrities.” He smirked. “That Tom Hiddleston fellow you keep telling me I look like ran through for a second.”

“Oh yeah?” Helen smiled ruefully. “I would have liked to meet him.”

“I know,” said Oakley with a smile. “If it’s any consolation, the girl he was snogging was a dead ringer for you.”

“Really?” Helen’s eyes sparkled. “Then maybe I’ve got a shot after all.”

“I’ll put in a word for you,” said Oakley in a serious voice. “Seeing as how me and Tom are best mates now.”

“Thanks, dear,” Helen retorted. “Anybody else?”

“What? You mean anybody else you fancy?” Oakley chuckled.

“No, Oak. Anybody else I know?” Helen bit her lip. “Old friends?”

Oakley froze. “What makes you say that?”

“Nothing,” said Helen, a bit quickly. “But Kit’s been away for ages. I’m sure there were people who came out of the woodwork for his homecoming.”

“Sure, sure. Art school classmates. A few colleagues from his advertising days. He’s already got a few jobs lined up. Adverts and promotional materials, that sort of thing.”

“And what about you?” Helen asked.

“What about me?”

“Did any of your friends turn out?”

“No,” said Oakley. “They stayed in. Family dos, you know.”

“Yeah.” Helen sighed. “I do.”

“Right.”

Oakley finished his tea, then looked at Helen. She looked back at him, her gaze steady and curious.

“Are you alright?” She asked.

“Of course I am.”

“No. No, Oakley.” Helen insisted. “Are you alright?”

“I just said…”

“You didn’t come to Chicago…”

“The book…”

“You’ve been…” Helen looked down at her lap.

“I’ve been what?” Oakley’s voice threatened to crack.

“Weird. Distant, like…” She raised her head, meeting his gaze once again. “We used to talk.”

“We talk all the time, Helen.”

“But about kid stuff. Home stuff. Did you call the dishwasher repairman, and did I get back to your mother about Sunday dinner.”

“Well, when I try to talk to you about my work…”

“But you only ever want to talk about your work.” Helen threw her hands up in the air. “Whenever I try bring up my stuff…”

“Your stuff? You’re the one who brings up the kids and the house. The dishwasher and bloody Sunday dinner.”

“Because I’m the one who does it.”

“What do you mean  _ you’re _ the one?”

“You always have to be reminded, have to be told…”

“Told what?”

“That these things need to be done! The children need looking after. Laundry must be washed, and bills must be paid.”

Oakley squared his shoulders. “Is that what this is about? Money?”

“When did I say it was about money?”

“When you talked about going back to work.”

“Of course I did. The extra money would be nice, but it’s not like we need…”

“No, we don’t because  _ I _ take care of that.”

“Yes,” said Helen quickly. “You do.”

“So it isn’t enough?”

“No, it isn’t!”

“The money isn’t enough. The house isn’t enough. That I didn’t spend one goddamn freezing New Year’s Eve with you and the kids squeezed into Magnus and Halla’s tiny house…”

“What the fuck, Oakley!”

“How are the lovebirds? Still perfect?”

“Oakley, they are our friends. They love us. They love you.”

“Only inasmuch as I am related to you.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing,” spat Oakley. “Just forget it.”

“Fine,” said Helen.

But it wasn’t fine. The silence between them was heated and tense. Helen didn’t know who to blame for the argument. Was it better if it was her fault or his? Was it better to focus on his behavior than wonder about the woman.

“You’re not wearing it.”

“What?”

Helen realized she had been staring into the distance, over Oakley’s shoulder and out the kitchen window. Outside the skies were overcast, as they almost always were. It was supposed to rain that evening, as it almost always did.

“The necklace I gave you.” Oakley frowned. “The silver one.”

“Oh.” Helen patted the base of her neck. “I… I gave it to Violet.”

Oakley couldn’t object to that. “Okay.”

“She liked it.”

“So you didn’t?”

“Oakley, that’s not what I meant and you know it.”

“How do I know what you think anymore? I clearly misjudged about the necklace.”

“Goddammit, I don’t care.”

“Yes, you do. Helen, if there is one thing I know about you, if not your taste in jewelry, then it is that you care about everything.”

“Fuck you. Just…” Helen rubbed her temples. “Fuck you.”

“That would be a change,” muttered Oakley.

“Wait a minute…”

“When was the last time we shagged?”

“Christmas Eve!” Helen said, her voice higher as she began to feel panicked. “Did you really forget?”

“No, but before that when? How long?”

“I…” Helen took a breath. “I don’t know.”

“You don’t know,” said Oakley. “And neither do I.”

Helen put her head down on the table, eyes closed and mouth open so she could take deep gulping breaths. When she felt Oakley’s hand on her shoulder, she flinched.

“Helen.”

“No.”

“Please.”

She sat up but didn’t look at him. “Tell me.”

“Helen, I think…”

“Fine.”

“Fine what?”

“Let’s…” She shrugged. “Take a break.”

“I don’t know…”

“Maybe a week? Two? I’ll take the kids, or you stay, and I’ll go. We can regroup after. Look into therapy.” She nodded. “That should help.”

“Helen,” said Oakley, sounding apologetic. “I don’t think it’s a break we need.”

“Well, we need something. Because this? What just happened?” She reached for Oakley. “What was that?”

Oakley sat back, not giving her his hand. “I’ve been thinking. For a while now. But when you were away. I missed the kids awfully, but I got to think for myself. By myself.”

“You missed the kids?” Helen wondered out loud. Then, to herself,  _ But what about me? _

“Helen, I’ve realized. After all this time.” Oakley look pained. “I don’t know how to say…”

_Then don’t say it,_ Helen thought to herself. “Say what?” She asked.

“Helen.”

“What?”

Oakley blinked. “I don’t love you anymore.”

He studied her face, but there was no visible change. She merely stared, her lips parted just so. No gasp of horror, and the tears he had expected did not come. And it’s not like Oakley wished to see the evidence that he had hurt her, only that she had heard what he said. Heard, and understood.

“Did you hear what I said?”

“What did you say?” Helen asked.

“Did you not hear me?” Oakley was confused.

“I did, but.” Helen sat up. “Tell me again.”

Oakley took a breath, then leaned across the table. “I don’t love you anymore. I’m not sure I ever did.”

The force of his words hit her, reverberating through her head and her heart, and for a moment, Helen was in so much pain she wanted to scream. But with that pain came a light. She felt light. Not just free of a weight that had trapped her but enlightened by a realization. A literal epiphany for which she had no evidence. Just the light, and the look in her husband’s eyes. She wanted to laugh. She wanted to cry. But before she could do these things, she wanted to speak.

“Oakley.”

“Yes?” Oakley looked at her closely.

“So you don’t love me anymore?” Helen asked.

“No, I don’t.”

“Well that’s just too bad…”

“I’m sorry, Helen.”

“... because I just don’t believe you.”

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, in case you were wondering, Anna in this story is the same Anna from the movie _Unrelated_.


End file.
